


tear ducts and rust (i'll fix it for us)

by rainbowysl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Heartbreak, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowysl/pseuds/rainbowysl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heartbreak, Louis thinks, quite philosophically for how drunk he is, is a unique feeling. It rips you open from the inside, chews you up and spits you out, leaving you vulnerable and empty and bleeding out. Heartbreak is an open wound and alcohol is like a butterfly bandage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tear ducts and rust (i'll fix it for us)

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a Zouis fix-it fic for my sad zouie heart. It started out being based on "Hello" by Adele and then I heard Love You Goodbye and the rest of MITAM and as most stories do it took on a mind of its own. This was a bitch and a half to write but I'm very glad I did; it was cathartic in a way and I had fun with it.
> 
> To my beta, my cheerleader, and my partner in crime: Cydie, thank you for encouraging me to keep going every time I hit writer's block on this and for being a sad zouie with me these past few months. This is for you <3
> 
> One Direction do not belong to me but if they did I would wrap them in blankets and make sure they were never sad. Please don't share this with the boys or anyone related to them.
> 
> Title comes from the song Just Give Me A Reason by P!nk and Nate Ruess.
> 
> Also I am a simple American obsessed with a bunch of British/Irish boys so feel free to Brit-pick the hell out of this if you see anything I missed.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Louis has never been this trashed in his life. It had taken him four tries to get the keys in the lock the right way after his driver had dropped him at his flat and once inside, Louis had slumped against the wall, too sloshed to even bother turning on the light. Is it even humanly possible to be this drunk? Louis swears he has never been this drunk before. Except for last night. And the night before. And, wait, there was that one time with Za--

No. Louis shakes his head roughly, as though it will force the name out of his brain. It’s probably for the best that he’s sitting down because that head shake would have sent him toppling right over. He’s still propped against the wall, unable to tell if he’s too lazy, too tired, or too entirely fucked up to move. Louis looks around for something to help pull himself up. He spots the coat rack by the door and decides it’ll have to do. He reaches out and grabs hold of it, and starts to pull himself up slowly. He doesn’t want to bring the whole thing, coats and all, down on top of him and wake up everyone within a ten mile radius in the process.

Why does he even have a coat rack? Who has coat racks anymore? It was probably something Harry had talked him into. “It’s vintage! It’ll help with your feng shui!” or something stupid like that. Louis finally pulls himself into a standing position and braces himself against the wall, his breathing a bit heavier than before. He has got to start working out again. Louis scoffs at the image his brain conjures of being in the gym next to Liam. There’s a laugh.

Louis runs his hands along the wall. There’s a lightswitch around here somewhere. Ha! There it is.

The entranceway is flooded in light. Louis stumbles down the short hallway to the connected living room and kitchen and does the same thing, grabbing onto the wall for support again. Christ, he’s drunk. He slowly blinks for a moment at the shiny black stove, its bright green numbers alerting him to the fact that it is two thirty in the morning, quite early by his standards, and the sparkling black marble countertops before deciding against trying for a cuppa. No need to put himself and others in danger, especially when he’s this drunk. He’s shuffling past the couch and the TV on the way to his room when he sees it. Oh. Right. The reason he’s this drunk. Again.

There’s a plain blue t-shirt thrown over the back of the couch. Louis can tell from where he’s standing that it’s soft and nearly threadbare from years of wear. He grits his teeth. He’s not going to cry again. That was the whole reason he had gone out, that he keeps going out--to stop crying. He can keep walking. He can go straight to his room and sleep this off and wake up with a (well deserved) raging headache tomorrow and forget all about tonight.

Instead, he ends up on the couch. At first he just lies there staring at the ceiling, feeling himself sinking into the soft cushions. He doesn’t know how long he lies there. It could be fifteen minutes it could be two hours. Eventually he turns his head and stares at the shirt. It’s still just lying there, taunting him. Daring him to do something. Giving in, Louis reaches out and grabs the soft material, holding it to his face. He inhales but it’s not there anymore. The smell isn’t there anymore. It smells like the fabric freshener that his cleaning lady uses, and soft cotton. No longer does it smell like cigarette smoke and hairspray and Gucci cologne and _Zayn_.

He thinks about that smell, how much it meant and how much he misses it. How overwhelming it had been in that tiny little bread van in Brazil with the five of them all squished together, tucked up under Zayn’s arm as they rode to the massive Christ the Redeemer statue. How the hairspray and the cologne nearly covered the smell of Zayn’s smoking habit, but how it would sneak through when Louis pressed himself close to Zayn, when they were coming down from the high of a great show or just getting into the high of a good smoke.

He remembers that smell from the last show before Zayn left. How he knew, sitting next to him silently in the ride back to the hotel that this wasn’t just a break for Zayn. That he wasn’t coming back. He remembers that the cigarette smoke wasn’t the only thing heavy in the air in Louis’ hotel room and how when the tension finally broke it wasn’t in kisses or uncontrollable giggles like it usually was when they got high, but in screaming at each other, in pushing and yelling, and tears. And when Zayn fucked him into the mattress that night it was rough and unrelenting and nothing like the giggly sex they usually had when they got high, and Louis found bruises on his hips where Zayn had held him down that lasted for days afterward.

Louis’ crying again now and he knows the tears are getting on the shirt but he doesn’t care. It’s been ten months and everyone else has moved on and he can’t. He puts on a happy face and sometimes he even feels it. Harry and the clubbing and those stupid bears have been a bit of a help. But then he’ll see some article about Zayn’s “promising new career” or an interviewer will ask what it’s like being down a member even though it’s been ten fucking months and we’re doing just fine thank you and every night he’ll come home and get drunk and lie on this stupid couch and shove his face into this stupid fucking shirt and cry.

Heartbreak, Louis thinks, quite philosophically for how drunk he is, is a unique feeling. It rips you open from the inside, chews you up and spits you out, leaving you vulnerable and empty and bleeding out. Heartbreak is an open wound and alcohol is like a butterfly bandage.

Louis pulls the shirt off of his face and holds it to his chest. He decides in that moment that he’s still a bit too drunk and definitely too tired to stand up and instead rolls off the couch. He lands on his front and lies there for a moment, face in the carpet, before flopping himself over to stare at the ceiling again. Shirt still clutched in his left hand, Louis pulls his phone out of his pocket with his right. There are a few texts, one from Harry asking if he’d gotten home alright, one from Grimshaw calling him a prick, as usual, and one from Niall that had been sent a few hours ago asking if he wants to get dinner in a few days when Niall comes to visit and write with Harry in L.A. He sends off three thumbs up emojis to Harry, one middle finger emoji to Nick, and “love to mate !” to Niall. He glances at the time. Three thirty. Well, since he’s up.

He opens Twitter first and scrolls through his mentions. There’s a few rude ones as always, a bunch with fans screaming “Larry” in various forms of capitalization, and Louis really doesn’t know whether that one is calling him daddy because of the whole Briana fiasco or because. Well. Anyways. He follows a few fans and moves on. He’s stopped crying by now and opens Tumblr next. He scrolls for a while, but he’s not really taking anything in. He knows what he wants to do but even in his drunken state he also knows it’s a terrible idea. He scrolls down to the next post and his stomach plummets. It’s a picture of Zayn on stage wearing the same shirt that Louis now clutches in his hand. Who posted that? Why the fuck is he following them? He takes the time to unfollow whoever posted that stupid picture and then throws his phone to the ground. He sighs loudly and boy is he glad he’s not got anyone over because that is the most pitiful he has ever sounded.

Louis looks over at his phone, just lying there on the fluffy carpet, and he’s drunk and tired and still on the floor and if he pays the price for it tomorrow then fuck it he doesn’t really care. Louis picks up the phone, unlocks it, opens his contacts and picks Zayn’s name. He hesitates for a moment and then presses “call.”

It rings. And rings. And keeps ringing and Louis doesn’t know if he feels nauseous because Zayn isn’t picking up or because Zayn could pick up at any second. And then suddenly it stops ringing and Louis hears a voice that he hasn’t heard in ten months.

“You’ve reached Zayn. You know what to do.”

An automated voice follows. “To leave a message press one. To leave a callback number press tw-”

Louis presses one.

 _Beep_.

Now or never, Louis supposes.

“Hey,” Louis tries, but it comes out sort of wheezy from disuse and crying. Louis clears his throat and tries again.

“Hey. It’s me. Um. I don’t really know why I’m calling?” Louis lifts his left hand off the shirt still lying on his chest and throws it over his eyes, willing himself not to cry again. “Um. I’m drunk, like stupid drunk right now Z and. I don’t know I guess I was wondering if we could meet up? I don’t even know if you’re in L.A. or London or what right now but it’s been forever like ten bloody months and I miss you and I feel like we should talk about everything that happened and--” Louis’ voice hitches and shit he’s crying again. He sits up, shirt still clenched in his left hand, and pulls his knees up to his chest.

He huffs out a broken, bitter laugh. “Didn’t even ask how you were. Fuckin’ typical of me. Ten bloody months and I can’t even bother to open with ‘How are you?’ I’m a shit person, I am. Don’t blame you for never answering my texts. Or leaving. Fuck.” Louis pauses again, and tries to even out his breathing. He hiccups slightly. “Harry made me come to L.A. with him. Said I needed to clear my head or something. Didn’t make me stop thinking about you.” Louis hits himself mentally when that part slips out. Fuck. Louis pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and takes another shuddering breath before continuing.

“Do you remember what it was like? When we were starting out? When we could sneak off and maybe like two people would recognize us but it didn’t matter that much. We’d take a picture or two and they were on their way. We were so fucking free back then, Zayn. I’d forgotten what that was like. It’s so different now, can’t even run down to the shops without someone knowing who I am. God I hope your voice mail doesn’t have a time limit or some shit or I’ve just been sitting here talking to myself haven’t I?”

Louis runs his fingers through his hair, stiff with sweat and hairspray and probably some alcohol; Harry had been as wild as Louis had, and that boy was clumsy _sober_.

“I wanted to call. So many times. Just to tell you I miss you or I’m sorry or just hear your voice.” Louis swallows around the lump in his throat.

“I really am, though. Sorry, I mean. I’m so sorry. I was such a dick and I said such horrible things but I was so hurt and you know I can’t hold my tongue on anything and I know that’s not an excuse but--fuck. I’m not sure where this is going anymore.” He pauses for a long time, sitting in the silence of his flat with the phone pressed to his ear. Eventually he continues. “I should probably go. Bet you didn’t even listen this far anyways. Probably just deleted it when you heard my voice. Wouldn’t blame you. I’ll just. I’ll talk to you later I guess. Maybe. Probably not.” Louis squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop the tears threatening to pour over. “Night, Z.”

Louis pulls the phone away from his face and ends the call. He drops it on the floor again, hugs the worn blue shirt tighter to his chest and leans sideways into the plush couch. He thinks of a soft smile and the faint scent of cigarettes before sleep finally takes him.

 

* * *

 

Louis wakes up to a raging headache, a sore neck, and someone pounding loudly on his door. Louis hauls himself up from the floor, tossing the blue shirt onto the couch bitterly, and slowly pads towards the door, stretching out his stiff back as he goes. The knocking gets louder.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Louis undoes the chain, turns the deadbolt, and opens the door to a very flustered looking Harry Styles.

“Hey Haz,” Louis greets, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh, thank god you’re okay.” Harry replies, stepping into the apartment and wrapping Louis in a hug, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Louis rests his hands gently on Harry’s back. “Of course I’m fine H, what are you on about?”

Harry pulls back abruptly, looking at Louis as though he’s just started fluently speaking pig Latin .

“Louis, it’s five in the evening. I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”

“Harry it’s not like I’ve never done that before, what’s the big deal?”

“I just thought you might want to get brunch and you always wake up and at least reply when I text and after the way you’ve been acting lately I was just scared I thought you’d done. . . _something_ to yourself.”

Maybe it’s the horrid hangover or maybe Louis’ patience with himself and others has just worn thin, but something in Harry’s voice makes him snap. “How I’ve been ‘acting lately’? What the hell does that mean?”

Harry’s brow crinkles in a frown. “Ever since we released the album all you do is lie on your couch and ignore us! When you do come out with us you get completely smashed and one of us always has to pile you into a car to make sure you don’t die on the way home!”

“Well I’m sorry to be such a worry to you, _Harold_.” Louis snarls, itching for a fight.

Very frustratingly and in a very Harry fashion, he doesn’t take the bait. “Lou,” he says softly. “You know I don’t mean it like that. We’re just worried about you. We care about you and we want you to be happy.”

Louis opens his mouth to respond but closes it instantly when he feels the tears welling up again. His face crumples and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing them not to fall, hands angrily balling into fists at his sides.

Harry immediately pulls him into another hug and Louis shoves his face into Harry’s neck. He smells like lavender. They stand like that for a long time, Harry running his hands up and down Louis’ back soothingly.

“Why can’t I just move on Haz?” Louis mumbles into Harry’s skin.

Harry presses closer to him, if that’s even possible, before answering. “It’s like mourning. Even though he didn’t die, you still lost someone. We all did. But grief takes its time and that time is different for everyone. You’ll get through this and I’ll be there every step of the way to help you.”

Louis sniffles. “You’re such a philosophical asshole, H.”

Harry smiles into Louis’ hair. “How about this: you jump in the shower and I’ll make you a nice cuppa, hey? How’s that sound?”

Louis nods, his head still in the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder.

“Good,” Harry says, squeezing him tighter before letting go. He kisses Louis’ forehead softly before stepping back and starting towards the kitchen. “Go get that shower, babe, I’ll have your tea waiting when you get out.”

Louis walks to the bathroom connected to his bedroom and adamantly avoids looking at the blue shirt that is again hanging over the back of the couch. He strips down once he reaches the bathroom and turns the shower on as hot as it can go without actually scalding him. He steps under the stream to wet his hair and shampoos it, working out the tangles with his fingers. He soaps up the rest of his body and then stands under the shower head, letting the water run over him until it starts to go cold.

Louis steps out of the shower and walks into his bedroom toward his dresser where he puts on pants and the softest pair of trackies he owns. He pulls on the first t-shirt he sees and pads softly out to the kitchen where Harry and his tea are waiting. Harry looks up and gives him a smile when he walks in.

“Good timing, I just poured it.”

Louis nods in thanks and wraps his hands around the mug. It’s hot but not too hot and he knows it’ll be perfect before he even takes a sip because Harry knows exactly how he takes it and gets it right every time.

“Figured we could stay in and watch whatever reruns we find on telly. Or we can watch a movie, whatever you like.”

Louis looks up from his tea and gives Harry a small smile. “That sounds great Haz.”

“Perfect. Go and make yourself comfortable, I’ll clean up here and grab some snacks.”

Louis makes his way towards the TV and stops when he sees the blue shirt still lying on the couch. He grabs it and takes it to his room, throwing it on the bed and closing the door behind him on his way out. Harry’s already worried about him and it’s just a blue shirt and maybe Harry wouldn’t recognize it anyway but he doesn’t want to risk it. He throws himself down on the couch and curls himself into Harry’s side when he comes to join him. They watch crappy television and throw popcorn at each other until the wee hours of the morning and Louis contemplates what on earth he did right in his past life to deserve a best friend like Harry Styles.

 

* * *

 

Two days later Niall shows up and the week flies by after that. They spend their days playing footie in Harry’s massive backyard and smoking a lot of weed and kicking Harry’s arse at FIFA and Louis feels the happiest he’s been in a long time. This, of course, should have been Louis’ first clue that everything was about to go completely tits up.

The second should have been Liam’s sudden arrival to join the group at the end of the week. Louis is always excited to see Liam because it means there’s one more person to play pranks on and Niall is always excited to see Liam because it means he finally gets a break from bearing the brunt of them.

The problem is that Liam is supposed to be spending time with his family before they all head off on their lads trip that Louis has finally gotten everyone to agree to go on. He calls Harry one afternoon to tell him that he’s in LA and wants to come see them. Harry immediately and enthusiastically agrees and an hour later Liam is sat on the huge sofa in Harry’s living room, thrashing Niall at FIFA.

“So Payno,” Louis says, holding a bowl of crisps and plopping down on the couch, throwing his feet into Niall’s lap as Niall squawks in protest (“Lou, come on, I’m already losing!”), “we weren’t supposed to see you for another month at least.”

“You complaining, Tommo?” Liam retorts, as he scores another goal against Niall. Niall groans loudly and slumps against the back of the sofa, Louis’ feet still in his lap.

“No, no, I always love seeing your gorgeous face,” Louis responds between munching on the crisps. He throws one at Liam’s head. “Just wondering why you’re here so early.”

A blush rises suddenly from Liam’s neck into his cheeks. Louis sits up, swiftly pulling his feet from Niall’s lap and kicking Niall’s controller out of his hands in the process. Niall throws up his arms in defeat and stands up, leaving to join Harry in the kitchen where he’s cooking dinner for everyone.

“Liam if you get any redder you’ll catch fire, what’s going on?” Louis grins wickedly. “Got yourself a lady, Payno?”

Liam’s put down the controller by now and he rubs at the back of his neck self-consciously.

“You can’t get mad.”

Louis frowns. “Li, you’re one of my best mates, I’m not going to get mad.”

Liam takes a deep breath, looking at his hands, now clasped in his lap. And then in one quick exhale, “I’mgoingtomeetupwithZayn.”

Louis blanches. “Run that by me again, Payno?” he says, shakily.

Liam looks up at Louis. “I’m going to meet up with Zayn. He phoned me a while back and I’m going to see him. I really want to work things out with him, Lou.”

“Work what out with who?” Harry says from the doorway. Louis jumps a mile - he hadn’t even heard Harry walk in - and the bowl of crisps goes toppling to the ground.

Louis swears, flustered, and starts picking them up as Liam answers Harry’s question.

“I’m going to see Zayn.”

The silence is deafening. Louis is focusing intently on picking up the crisps so he doesn’t have to watch this go down but even as he examines the crisp in his hand he can tell Harry is frowning. And not that cute little frown he gets when he’s confused or when he’s upset that the interviewer didn’t bring Swiss chocolate. No, this frown is his angry one, one that doesn’t come out often, and when it does you know he’s not fucking about. It’s no secret that Harry isn’t Zayn’s biggest fan and Louis knows this is the calm before the storm and he’s not really keen about being in the room for this fight, much less in the middle of it. He picks up the last of the crips and books it past Harry into the kitchen, bowl in hand.

Niall looks up at the sound of Louis’ footsteps and smiles until he sees the panicked look on Louis’ face.

“Louis, what--” he begins, frowning.

“What the _fuck_ Liam?!”

Louis puts the chips down on the table in front of him and sits down next to Niall and they sit together in silence as they listen to the fight happening in the next room.

“Harry, I--”

“He abandoned us, Liam.” Harry shouts. “He abandoned us, and our fans, right in the middle of the fucking tour! Like the last five years meant nothing! Let’s not even start on what he did to Louis.”

Louis cringes and Niall puts a hand on his arm in comfort. Liam’s response is muffled, but they can hear Harry scoff.

“Fine. Go ahead. Go meet up with him and make nice and let him lie to you and manipulate you again. But don’t expect me to do the same.”

“Harry, come o-”

“No, Liam. I don’t have the energy to argue with you about this again. I can’t forgive him. I don’t know how, not after everything he’s done.”

Harry’s footsteps can be heard coming toward the kitchen and Niall and Louis busy themselves with the bowl of crisps and bottles of beer in front of them.

Harry stops in front of the table. “Food’s on the stove,” he says without looking at them. “Help yourselves.”

They hear his footsteps continue through the room and up the stairs. Save for the sounds of the FIFA game still playing on the television, the house is silent as death.

Louis and Niall hear Liam’s footsteps coming towards the kitchen and they look up as he arrives in the doorway.

“I’ve got to head out,” he says. “Probably for the best anyways, eh?”

They nod silently, Niall’s face sympathetic and Louis’ completely blank.

Louis stares resolutely at the table as Liam walks out. He hears the door open and then close again before he remembers something. He pushes his chair out and stands up so fast that the chair almost topples over and Niall jumps.

“Louis?”

Louis ignores him, practically sprinting out the door after Liam.

Liam is about to get into his car when Louis catches up.

“Liam, wait,” he says.

Liam stops, hand on the door, and turns around.

“Louis I’m so sorry--”

Louis waves him off impatiently.

“Harry’ll come round. He’s just been really protective of me since…” Louis gestures vaguely as his sentence trails off.

Liam nods. “Lou I’m…I’m so sorry for everything you went through with that, it wasn’t fair but I just. I need to see him, y’know? We were best mates and I,” he rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck and sighs. “I want that back.”

“That’s actually kind of why I came sprinting after you,” Louis says. Liam tilts his head and his brows furrow together in confusion.

Louis takes a deep breath. “I sort of got really drunk and ended up leaving a really long pathetic voicemail and I haven’t heard anything back from him, not that I was expecting to I mean it was pretty embarrassing, anyways, if he brings it up when you go to see him I’d rather you hear it from me first than from him.”

Liam looks a bit shellshocked after Louis’ little ramble and Louis doesn’t blame him. Their team had hidden it pretty well, but Louis had been nearly inconsolable the month following Zayn’s departure. For a moment Liam just stares at Louis, eyes about to pop out of his head.

The next minute Louis finds himself wrapped up in the tightest Liam bear hug he’s ever experienced. He hesitates for a moment and then relaxes into the embrace, nuzzling his nose into the place where Liam’s shoulder meets his neck.

“I love you, Tommo,” Liam says into Louis’ hair. “I know all we do is mess about and fuck with each other but I really do love you.”

“Love you, too, Payno,”

They stay like that for a bit before Louis pulls back. He shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Don’t bring it up to him I just. Wanted you to hear it from me.”

Liam smiles softly. “Of course, Lou.”

He cups the back of Louis’ head and then squeezes his neck gently before finally turning and getting into his car. He waves at Louis as he backs up until he pulls out of the drive and speeds off. Louis stands there for a bit, staring at the end of the drive, before turning to go back inside and eat with Niall. After they eat, Louis says goodbye to Niall and Harry, who came back downstairs after Liam left, and heads home. He heads straight to his bedroom when he gets home and falls into a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of hazel brown eyes and jet black hair.

The next morning, Louis wakes up to one text.

_He asked about you._

 

* * *

 

Louis can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and his chest feels tight and this, Louis decides, is what a heart attack must feel like, and as he’s absolutely losing his shit, Louis gets another text from Liam.

_He wants to see you_

This can’t be real. He’s imagining this, he’s dreaming. Louis pinches himself, hard, on the thigh, but all it does is give him a sore leg.

 **Don’t fuck w me payne** , he texts back.

Almost immediately:

_Never tommo xx_

And now Louis’ really losing it. Why would Zayn want to see him? Especially after that ridiculous, pathetic message he left? Louis’ phone vibrates again, notifying him of a new text from Liam.

_Got anything on today?_

**No why**

_We’ll come over about eight that work?_

With shaky hands, Louis types out, **sure.**

 

* * *

 

The day drags by and Louis has nothing to do, so he spends the entirety of it fidgeting. He changes his outfit four times. He makes himself a half assed lunch of crisps and a beer, and, as an afterthought, an apple because Harry will kill him if he doesn’t eat at least one healthy thing that week and Harry _will_ know. He watches reruns of whatever soap he can find and plays a little FIFA, though it’s not as fun when he doesn’t have Niall’s arse to kick. He even tries some of the yoga moves that Harry had showed him but that lasts about ten minutes and Louis flops down on the floor with another hour left before Liam and Zayn are set to arrive.

Liam and Zayn.

Zayn.

Zayn is coming to his flat. Zayn is _coming_ to his flat. _Zayn_ is coming to his flat. Louis still can’t wrap his head around it, it’s so sudden, and everything is happening at once and-

There’s a loud knock at the door. Louis sits bolt upright and looks in the direction of the front door. They knock again.

Slowly, shakily, Louis stands up. He crosses to the door, takes a deep breath, turns the knob and opens the door to...

Liam.

He frowns slightly and opens his mouth to say something and then, like out of a fucking movie, Zayn emerges from behind Liam, hands shoved in his pockets, and whatever Louis was going to say gets stuck and he stands there with his mouth halfway open like a goddamn fish. Because it’s been ten months and now Zayn is in front of him, with a well-groomed beard growing in and his hair flecked with white and a small diamond stud in his nose and Louis had seen pictures, knew how beautiful Zayn had gotten, had _stayed_ , after he left, but seeing it in the flesh, standing in front of him is something entirely different.

They stand there for a moment that feels like ages, and Zayn just stares back at him.

Finally, somehow, Louis remembers how to speak.

“You’re early,” he says weakly, still looking at Zayn.

“Yeah I remembered that Julian wanted to do a bit of writing,” Liam says, and Louis nearly jumps out of his skin; he’d completely forgotten Liam was even there, “and since you said you weren’t doing anything today I figured we’d pop over early.”

Louis nods dumbly, and opens the door to let them in. They enter, Liam first and Zayn behind him, still silent. Louis shuts the door behind them and rests his forehead on the cool wood for a second. _This is real_ , he thinks, _this is happening_.

When he joins the other two, he finds Liam sprawled comfortably on Louis’ plush couch, typing away on his phone, and Zayn standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, shifting from foot to foot, as though he’s not sure whether or not he’s allowed to sit.

“You can sit down if you’d like,” Louis offers quietly, gesturing at the other chair gathered around his massive television. Zayn startles, head snapping to look at him, like he’d been too lost in thought to even hear Louis enter. He nods quickly and sits in the huge armchair to Liam’s left, putting his hands in his lap and staring resolutely at the coffee table in front of him. Louis stays standing for a moment and then settles onto the couch next to Liam. The three of them sit in silence, save for the tapping of Liam’s thumbs against the screen of his phone. Suddenly, Liam’s phone rings, and Zayn and Louis both turn to look at him, thankful for something to focus on in the quiet room.

“Julian!” Liam answers joyfully. “No, mate, I’m not busy, what’s up?”

Liam stands up and walks to the door of Louis’ flat, still chattering away on his phone. They hear him open the door, step out into the hallway, and finally close it behind him, leaving them in silence.

Louis’ fidgeting, uncomfortable in the silence and cursing Liam’s name because this had been his plan the whole time, the asshole, probably arranged for Julian to call him, when Zayn speaks, and Louis almost passes out right there because it’s been ten fucking months and he sounds the same, has the same Bradford drawl and Louis can’t believe this is real life.

“I got your message.”

“Yeah?” Louis answers weakly. They sit in the quiet for a minute.

“I was really drunk it didn’t-” at the same time as Zayn says, “I miss you, too.”

Louis chokes on the rest of his words, his eyes wide. “What?”

Zayn looks up and stares him straight in the eyes. “I miss you, too,” he repeats, as firmly as he had the first time. And Louis knows Zayn’s not yanking him about because it never mattered what the papers had to say, Zayn’s not a bullshitter. Zayn isn’t quiet, no matter what they say about him, he just thinks about everything before he says it so that he means everything that comes out of his mouth.

Louis can’t stop staring at him, so Zayn goes on, look at his hands again, and for the first time in a long time, Zayn looks unsure of himself.

“When I got your message I thought I was dreaming. Never thought you’d want to talk to me again, not after…” He trails off, and either Louis’ mind is playing tricks on him or Zayn has tears in his eyes.

“Wait,” Louis says, “You thought _I_ never wanted to speak to _you_ again? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me, I beat myself up for _months_ after, I thought I’d pushed too hard, like I always do.”

Zayn’s head shoots up. “How can you say that? Louis I called you a…” He stops, putting his face in his hands. “I can’t even say the word. I never want you to have to hear that word again.”

And for the first time in months, Louis lets himself think about their last night together and their last fight. They’d never talked about the sexual part of their relationship, it was just something that happened and Zayn never stayed the night. And Louis had told himself not to fall for Zayn, that this was just an arrangement they had, and that falling for a bandmate was a really bad idea, but like the fool he was, he’d fallen anyway and he’d fallen hard. That final night, after Zayn’s last concert, after they’d screamed at each other to avoid the real elephant in the room, after Zayn had fucked him into the mattress, better than he’d ever had it before, Louis had asked Zayn to stay.

“Please,” he’d said, “just this once.”

Zayn was sitting on the edge of the bed, not looking at Louis. “I can’t, Lou,” he said, already pulling his shirt back on.

Louis reached out, running his hand down Zayn’s back. “Come on, Z, I don’t know when I’ll see you again.

Zayn jerked away, as though he’d been burned and turned to actually look at Louis for the first time that night.

“I’m not like you, Louis,” he snarled. “I’m not some queer.” And he’d left without another word leaving Louis naked, alone, and in shock.

Louis returns to the present to Zayn looking at him.

“You’re not the shitty person, Lou, I am.”  
  
“Zayn, no, I-”

“I was so scared.” Zayn looks at his hands again. “I always wanted to stay but I never let myself because I was so fucking scared of what it meant. It was _haram_ and every night I’d go home and pray to God to forgive me for what we’d done for how much I’d...how much I’d liked it.”

Zayn swallows thickly. Louis is still, waiting for Zayn to go on.

“I went home and told Perrie everything. Told her what we’d been doing and how sorry I was and that I wanted to make it work, but she wouldn’t have it and I don’t blame her. And she left and I suddenly realized how I must have made you feel leaving you behind in that hotel room.

“I spent a lot of time thinking. About us, about myself, who I was. Cut off all my fuckin’ hair, pierced my nose. And by the time I figured it out and realized what a bloody idiot I’d been, I assumed you’d never want to hear from me again. And then I got your message and I couldn’t believe it. I must have listened to it a hundred times.”

Louis looks at Zayn. He can’t stop looking at him because he doesn’t know what the hell else to do. “What did you figure out?” He asks warily.

Zayn stays quiet for a long time and Louis lets him. And then, slowly, as though he’s trying not to spook Louis, he finally speaks.

“I don’t think,” he says, looking up at last, “that you can go to hell for having loved.”

For what seems like the hundredth time that night, Louis says, “What?”

“I love you, Louis.”

Louis stares at him again, which is all he seems to be capable of tonight. Zayn squirms under his gaze and his face falls, a look of panic washing over it.

“Fuck, I’ve read it wrong haven’t I, god Lou I’m so sorry I’ll just go-”

Louis vaults himself off the couch and into Zayn’s lap, narrowly avoiding the coffee table. He straddles Zayn, bracketing his narrow hips with his knees, and cups Zayn’s face in his hands. They’re so close that Louis can feel Zayn’s breath on his lips, can smell the hairspray Zayn’s partial to and the faint scent of a cigarette from hours before and Louis is so fucking overwhelmed and they haven’t even kissed yet.

“Don’t you dare,” he breathes, and firmly presses his lips to Zayn’s. Zayn hesitates for a small moment before bringing his hands up to rest on Louis’ hips, pressing deeper into the kiss. They kiss slowly, but deeply, pouring the last ten months apart into it. Louis presses his tongue against Zayn’s lips hesitantly, asking permission, and Zayn opens his mouth to let-

“So is it safe to say you two made up?” Louis and Zayn break apart to see Liam standing in Louis’ living room again, grinning with his hands on his hips. Louis hadn’t even heard him come inside. Louis groans, letting his head fall onto Zayn’s shoulder.

“Liam,” he says, “Not to be an arse, but we have ten months to make up so. Get out.”

“Hey.” Liam puts his hands up in defense. “Consider me gone.” He heads back the way he came.

“Have fun, be safe!” He yells from the door.

“Fuck off, Liam!” Zayn and Louis yell together, but they’re both laughing.

Louis cups Zayn’s face in his hands again, running his thumbs gently across Zayn’s cheekbones, and smiles softly. He brings his face close to Zayn’s again.

“I love you, too,” he says against Zayn’s lips.

This must spark something in Zayn because all of a sudden he’s surging forward, gripping Louis’ hips hard enough to bruise, and there’s nothing soft about this kiss, all tongues and teeth and it has Louis moaning into Zayn’s mouth. Louis wraps his arms around Zayn’s neck and grinds down into Zayn’s lap and grins against Zayn’s lips when he finds him already hard.

“That didn’t take long.”

“Shut up,” Zayn replies, wrapping his hands around the backs of Louis’ strong thighs and standing up. Louis instinctively wraps his legs around Zayn’s waist and they somehow maneuver around the couches and coffee table without toppling to the floor and Zayn finds his way to Louis’ room without breaking the kiss once, because even after ten months Zayn knows exactly how to get there, it’s muscle memory after finding it so many times in the dark.

Zayn puts Louis down once they get there, and Louis whines.

“Wait,” Zayn says, breathless, and flips on the light, “wanna see you,” and Louis almost comes on the spot. And then Zayn’s lips are on his again and he’s being backed up towards the bed until he feels the back of his knees hit the edge. He breaks the kiss long enough to scramble up toward the headboard, and pulls Zayn after him by the front of his shirt. He’s about to get his lips on Zayn’s again, can’t get enough of him, wants to feel his perfect lips forever, when Zayn stops, staring at something to Louis’ right. Louis frowns, confused and follows Zayn’s gaze. There, next to Louis, is Zayn’s blue shirt.

“Is that…” Zayn asks.

Louis blushes furiously and nods.

“Oh, Lou,” Zayn says and kisses the breath right out of him. Zayn is everywhere and Louis doesn’t know where to put his hands, wants to touch every part of him at once. And then Zayn’s lips are at his jaw, at his neck, he’s sneaking under the hem of Louis’ shirt, his warm hands on Louis’ tummy and Louis has to remind himself to breathe because passing out in the middle of this would be a real mood killer. And in the next second his shirt is off, lost to the floor, and Zayn’s is close behind. Zayn starts on his original path down Louis’ body, pressing kisses everywhere he can reach. And everywhere he leaves a kiss, he leaves an “I love you.”

Louis’ collarbone. “I love you.”

Louis’ right nipple. “I love you.”

Louis’ left nipple. “I love you.”

His navel. His hips. The light trail of hair leading down into his skinny jeans. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Louis’ whole body is burning, he’s never been more turned on in his life.

Zayn finally makes it to top of Louis’ jeans, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops, and looks up at him, asking for permission.

“Please,” Louis moans.

Zayn unbuttons Louis’ jeans and pulls down the zipper and then pulls off the jeans and Louis’ pants all in one go, throwing them to the floor next to their shirts. He looks at Louis like he’s a gift from God and Louis swears he’s going to catch fire right there.

“So beautiful,” Zayn says and finally, _finally_ , he takes Louis’ cock in his mouth. Louis arches off the bed and moans, nearly screams, because it’s been ten months, ten fucking months without this, without Zayn and he still can’t believe this is real. Staring at the ceiling (because if he watches this happen he’ll last all of five seconds) Louis grabs a handful of the sheets in one hand and tangles the fingers of his other in Zayn’s hair, feeling his head bob between Louis’ legs.

 _God_ , Louis thinks, _I know we don’t talk much but I’d just like to send up a quick thank you for this particular moment in time._

It takes him a moment to realize Zayn’s not blowing him anymore and when he looks down to see what’s going on he sees Zayn is shaking with laughter, still holding onto Louis’ dick with his right hand, giggling hysterically into Louis’ left thigh.

“What?” Louis asks.

Zayn tries to answer, but he’s laughing too hard.

Louis frowns at him and then it dawns on him.

“Oh God,” Louis says in horror, “I’ve said that out loud haven’t I?”

Zayn nods, still giggling.

“God that’s so embarras - ahhh.”

Louis chokes off the end of his sentence in a moan as Zayn goes down on him again, taking him all the way down to the root this time.

“Fuck, Z,” Louis moans, “Fuck, Z you gotta stop before I- Oh god, fuck.”

Zayn keeps going, ignoring Louis’ protests, so Louis tangles his fingers in Zayn’s hair again, pulling hard enough to get his attention, but not enough to really hurt him.

Zayn pulls off until the head of Louis’ cock is resting on his bottom lip and stares up at him and honestly how has Louis not passed out at this point.

Louis gently pulls Zayn back up the bed, kissing him deeply, tasting himself in Zayn’s mouth. Against Zayn’s lips he mumbles, “Want you in me.”

Zayn moans in agreement. “Where’s-”

“Top drawer, table to your left.”

Zayn scrambles off Louis long enough to grab lube and a condom, placing them next to Louis’ head and kissing him again. They kiss until they can’t breathe and Louis’ reaching down, pawing at the front of Zayn’s tight jeans.

“Get these off,” he demands between kisses. Zayn, in a feat of what must be magic, wriggles out of them without breaking from Louis’ mouth once and Louis’ really going to die right here and what a way to go.

They’re both naked now as Zayn comes to kneel between Louis’ thighs, reaching up to grab the lube and condom from next to Louis at the head of the bed. He hears Zayn open the lube and then there’s a finger pressing gently into him and Louis’ so overwhelmed he could cry. Zayn, who Louis is now convinced is actually a wizard, seems to sense this, and bends down to kiss Louis, still fingering him gently. Louis whimpers into Zayn’s mouth.

“I’ve got you, Lou,” Zayn says, “I’ve got you.” And for the first time in ten months Louis feels completely and utterly safe. Zayn’s added another finger by now, and is well on his way to three, and Louis may be overwhelmed but this is maddening and he’s getting impatient, wants Zayn in him now. He says as much and Zayn laughs lightly.

“Wanna be in you, too, babe, but I’m not going to hurt you doing it.”

Louis squirms impatiently and Zayn laughs as he kisses the pout off Louis’ lips.

Zayn finally adds a third finger and Louis gives him a minute because Zayn’s right, they do need to take their time, but, “Oh for the love of God Zayn I’m not going to break.”

Zayn seems to agree because he’s pulling his fingers out, slowly, gently, and Louis watches him tear open the condom wrapper, watches him pinch the end and roll it on and he’s not going to cry he’s really not that would be so embarrassing, but Louis’ never been this overwhelmed in his life and Zayn’s not even inside him yet.

And then Zayn, as frustratingly slow as before, finally pushes into Louis and Louis moans so loudly he swears the neighbors are going to call the cops. Zayn fucks Louis like he’s something precious, kisses him like he’s drowning and Louis is a gasp of air and Louis’ never felt more loved in his life. After a while though, Louis’ desire to come passes his appreciation for how gently and slowly Zayn is taking him apart, and he flips them so he’s straddling Zayn. He braces his hands on Zayn’s chest, lets his head fall back and rides him, hard, like they’ll never get the chance to do this again and maybe a part of Louis believes that, maybe this is too good to be true. He’s getting close and he looks down at Zayn’s face, wants to look Zayn in the eyes when he comes so if he’s right and Zayn leaves, he’ll be able to hold onto this forever.

But Zayn is looking at him like he hung the goddamn stars _and_ the moon, for that matter, and he’s holding onto Louis’ hips like they’re the only things anchoring him to this world and Louis comes, clenching hard around Zayn who follows soon after him, thinking if this is what heaven looks like, he wouldn’t mind dying right here and now.

They both collapse to the bed, sweaty and panting heavily, and Louis doesn’t know how long they just lie there staring at each other. Eventually Louis feels gross enough to get up and grab a flannel, wiping himself and Zayn down. He takes the flannel back to the bathroom, leaving Zayn to throw out the condom and attempt to clean up the bed and when he comes back, Zayn’s not in there anymore, and Louis panics because Zayn’s done it again, Zayn left and Louis fell for it again, let Zayn use him and leave him and-

“Kinda wanted to change the sheets before we - Louis?”

And Louis loses it, choking back sobs because Zayn hasn’t left he’s _right there_ in front of Louis talking about changing the fucking sheets, holding them in his arms, and then suddenly _he’s_ in Zayn’s arms, clinging to him like he’ll fall right through the floor if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

“Shh,” Zayn hushes him, soothingly, “I’m right here Lou. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere, babe. Come here, come on.

He walks Louis slowly to the bed, the new sheets forgotten on the floor, and tucks him under the covers. He walks around to the other side of the bed, crawls up under the blankets, and curls himself behind Louis, pulling him to his chest. He kisses Louis between the shoulder blades and holds Louis tight until they both fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

When Louis wakes up, Zayn is facing away from him. This time, when Louis reaches out touches the back of Zayn’s head and runs his fingers down Zayn’s back, Zayn turns over and smiles softly at Louis before curling into him and dozing off again.

Heartbreak, Louis thinks, is an open wound, and Zayn is the sutures that stitch him back together. They’ve left their fair share of scars on each other, but scars heal and scars fade. The sun is just beginning to peek through the blinds and they have a couple of hours before they have to be even remotely known to the rest of the world, so Louis snuggles back under the covers and into Zayn’s arms and knows that they’ll get through whatever the world has to throw at them because home is right here.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to EastEnders' Christian and Syed, my first OTP, for the "can't go to hell for having loved" line. Without them I never would have finished this fic.
> 
> I'm about 95% sure I used haram in the right context but please don't hesitate to correct me if I didn't, the last thing I want to do is offend someone!


End file.
